


Perception

by doctorwatsonofhogwarts



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Gen Work, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorwatsonofhogwarts/pseuds/doctorwatsonofhogwarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock remembered reading the posts on the blog, yet now when he searched for it no results came up. Like it never existed. Like he never existed. Like he was never there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception

“ _Sherlock, why are there rat brains in the fridge?!”_

“ _Sherlock Holmes, I swear, the next time I find a body in the bath tub, it will be yours!”_

“ _Sherlock did you get the milk?”_

“ _Oh of course you didn’t, it’s too boring and mundane for Sherlock Holmes.”_

“ _Sherlock! Put that gun down!”_

“ _Sherlock, Mrs Hudson wants you to keep the noise down!”_

“ _We’re_ not  _having a domestic!”_

“ _Sherlock?!”_

“ _Sherlock!”_

Was it possible that his cruel mind was just playing tricks on him? To create such an intricate lie before his eyes, an illusion that twisted his perception of reality so much that he couldn’t tell a dream from pure, unadulterated reality. Him, Sherlock Holmes, a man who prided himself on his perception and clear thinking.

Could he still say that? Was it allowed to claim to be perceptive and a master of deduction after that? He could still tell everything about strangers by just getting one look at them, yet when it came to himself, everything was just a guess. There were no definite answers and Sherlock feared that he could never find them.

He needed them, he need to know. Was what Lestrade said real? Was that Hopper girl telling the truth? It couldn’t have been, his memories were as clear as day. He remembered the feeling of grabbing him by the arm and his forceful tugs to get his gun away from him. The interactions between him and the rest of them – Mrs Watson. How he tried to tidy up 221B, grumbling about the fridge being empty and limping. His awful jumpers and the blog he ran. Sherlock remembered reading the posts on the blog, yet now when he searched for it no results came up.

Like it never existed. Like  _he_ never existed.

His books and clothes and the toothbrush in the bathroom blurred every time Sherlock laid his eyes on them and disappeared like they were just a hallucination. He could hear his footsteps and his form out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned he was met with emptiness and silence.

Like he was never there.

Sherlock jumped off the couch rapidly, stepping on the coffee table as he rushed towards his violin. He grabbed the instrument, which terrible sounds used to annoy  _him_  so much and threw it violently against the wall. It hit the yellow smiley face, at which Sherlock glowered.

It couldn’t be true. He could hear his voice in his head, screaming as he ran up the stairs to see what was happening. Then, seconds before he should have entered the room, the voices became quiet and nothing appeared. Sherlock fell to his knees, pulling on his dark locks, face twisted in anger and confusion.

John Watson wasn’t real.

He was a piece of his imagination, an illusion made by his twisted mind in order to allow him to deal with the world. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t fair. John Watson, a man he learned to trust and care for; a soldier, a friend, a doctor. Not real, in-existent, fake.

_John Watson wasn’t real._

“ _Sherlock we have plenty of cases, just pick one of them and stop having a temper tantrum like a child!”_


End file.
